Remus J. Lupin (maraudermoony) wrote in uprisingrpg, @ 2010-11-19 11:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | nymphadora tonks, remus lupin |
Who: Remus and Tonks
What: No matter what he tells you, Lupin is not 'fine.'
When: Friday Night
Where: Alphard Black's Home
Warnings: TBA
Status: Incomplete
Ireland had been what he needed at the time. Fresh air, open spaces and no immediate sense of confinement. Clearly, he hadn't been able to walk around in Wizarding districts as if nothing was wrong, but it was nice to stay at a location with a true sense of privacy that allowed him to at least feel as if he had gone on some type of trip. If he thought of it as a trip then the thoughts that it was just a moment of pause after his moon shift didn't seep into his head. Or that it wasn't as free of confinement as he liked to perceive it. Or that he was still on the run.
It was day six since the trip had ended and over a week since he made his break through with Harry. Just before the conversation through patronus messages came to an end, he let Harry know that he may not be available to talk for sometime, which was true. But he was back at the hideout now, with all the time in the world, and he had time to talk with anyone. But what could he offer Harry now?
It was safest for Harry to withhold information from him, he agreed and wouldn't have it any other way. But there was a desire, deep down inside of him, to wish to know more. To be able to help in some way. To not feel as if he was becoming an utter waste. If he just knew what Albus had asked of Harry, he'd be able to feel as if he was contributing.
But he wasn't contributing. He couldn't. He couldn't because of his own stupidity. If he had just swallowed his pride after the attack on his home, oh so long ago, things may have turned out differently. If he'd have spoken with Arthur or Molly or Kingsley or Mad Eye, anyone really, he was certain they'd have helped him out. He could have even sought out Fred! He knew of Fred's lycanthropy, even back then. Fred could have gotten him in touch with the potion. And then he wouldn't have been out that night. He wouldn't have bitten Patience. He wouldn't have evoked the wrath of a Death Eater. He wouldn't have to be stuck in this god forsaken house just so they couldn't kill him.
He was foolish, so damn foolish. He couldn't contribute and it was all because of his own pride.
No, even if he had of been able to prevent himself from changing Patience, he was positive they'd have found a way to use him against Harry. After all, why else did they single him out and destroy his home? They wanted to find a way to make an example to Harry and he was an easy target. Sure, Ginny or Fred or George would have hit closer to home, but the Weasley's were protective of one another. They'd have been highly difficult to get to. Remus was always alone in those days.
But he wasn't now. As he sat now, at the dining room table with his hands pressed tight together against his lips, his leg bouncing up and down uncontrollably as he thought, he reminded himself he was not alone. Dora. He had Dora.
His hands unclenched and slipped up into his hair, gripping at the strands, keeping his eyes shut as he took in heavy, painful breaths. He didn't want to wake her. He had been tossing and turning so much from his thoughts that he slipped out of bed so not to wake her. She had it off worse then he ever did. She had to put on a brave face every day. She risked her life every day. And how grateful was he, sitting here, feeling bad for himself? What kind of man was he to let her do it? He shouldn't let her risk herself for him. He should have just evacuated the country, weeks ago.
He wouldn't and couldn't do that though, no matter how much he believed it was for the best. Not now. He was attached. Though he hated this house and being the most useless person, he couldn't leave. He couldn't bring himself to pull from her. He loved her.
But shouldn't that be the reason for him wanting to leave? To save her? Instead of the other way around that had been occurring these last few months. Perhaps, but he reminded himself that they were a team. She had stated it before. And he agreed. They had become that. He couldn't severe himself from that.
He needed air. He needed it. His thoughts were becoming too loud and he felt his heart racing. He was thinking things now that he didn't believe in, that he knew he could never do. He slammed his chair back, it skirting across the floor loudly, with him leaping out of it quickly. He didn't notice it kept moving from the inertia, hitting the cabinets behind the table. He was moving so quick now, out the kitchen, through the living room, to the front door, shutting it behind him without the least bit of thought and practically running down the porch steps. Hands flew back up into his hair and he was pacing, losing his reserve. He needed to stop thinking, needed to calm down. Frustration was setting in and he looked around, at the trees he saw every day of his waking anymore. It was as if he was living in a painting and knew of nothing else.
Before he realized it, he was making his way straight through the front woods, grunting, his arms now swinging by his sides, fists occasionally knocking back hard into the trees. He needed air and he felt as if he couldn't breathe.